Oh, Sweden. What a delightfully weird little place you are.
I tried caviar paste out of a tube. I ate green, whiskey-scented pastries called “dammsugare”, that literally translate in English to vacuum cleaner.
I drank (five) $19USD mojitos in a yacht club that was half rum lounge, half baby-boomer dance party run by a Swedish-fitness-celebrity-turned-DJ.
On our last day, we wandered around Gothenburg. We went to the art museum, did some shopping and enjoyed some of the best desserts and mochas at a French patisserie.
I tried really, really hard to miss all of my flights back to the good old U. S. of A. (Read: sarcasm, I had a very rough day of traveling.)
We got lost on the way to the airport in Sweden. In Amsterdam, I waited for my friend to come back from the bathroom (like he asked me to do) and he ended up going to the gate and not telling me, so I barely made it to the gate before the closed the doors (four minutes and a sprint to be exact). In Minnesota, I had 57 very short minutes to deplane, clear immigration & customs, exit the Delta terminal, re-enter the main terminal for my Frontier connection, go through security, get to my gate and board for Colorado. I learned that it’s deemed “illegal” to book an international connecting flight with less than one hour – thanks sassy Delta flight attendant, I realize how ill planned this decision was.
I did end up making it back to Denver. My nerves were shot, I had been up for almost 36 hours (which is a really long time for me) and the third plane of my 5,500+ mile trans-Atlantic trip was full of really drunk early 20-somethings.
When I was picked up, the first thing I said was “Hi, thanks for getting me, I missed you! But hey, can we stop by the liquor store on our way home? I need like nineteen beers rightfuckingnow.”